Create Bubbles At Night
by Suomalainen-Sisu
Summary: When Kurt Hummel moved into his own apartment in Chicago, he expected his life to be filled with stardom, fashion and the big stage. But when he landed himself in the middle of a confrontation between two rival gangs he realized that maybe life wasn't as easy as he originally planned; particularly when the Warblers' leader, Sebastian Smythe had taken a liking to the young man. AU.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Glee or any of its characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro's song 'Bubbles'.

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**Create Bubbles at Night – Chapter 1**

As it turned out, unpacking boxes at seven in the evening was a lot harder and tiresome when you didn't have a friend or lover to help you out. And unfortunately, Kurt Hummel had just learnt that the hard way as he struggled to carry a box of preciously packed clothing into the room that the estate agent had formerly described as 'spacious and roomy'. Though, it was pretty obvious that the space had used to be a closet or a utility room and _not_ the 'master bedroom' previously described and Kurt realized this as soon as he finally set the box down next to five similar looking ones and glanced around.

Worn wallpaper coated the walls and the floorboards creaked and wobbled beneath his feet. An empty cabinet sat in the corner and a lonely double bed was pushed up against a wall, taking up the majority of the room and leaving Kurt with little empty space to maneuver around in. There would hardly be any space for his clothes when they were all fully unpacked and any dreams of purchasing a comfy little armchair and placing it in his bedroom swiftly died.

Kurt sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. Maybe he should leave the rest of the unpacking until tomorrow. Or _maybe_, Kurt should have just accepted Rachel and his dad's help earlier when they had offered. The brunette pursed his lips together. Had he just swallowed his pride, he could've been unpacked and settled in a long time ago. But no, that hadn't happened. Instead, Burt was on his merry way back to Ohio and Rachel was busy playing the happy couple game with her new boyfriend Connor in their own apartment.

Kurt wandered over to the bed, sat down and then flopped backwards, squirming to get comfy on the old mattress.

If Connor hadn't popped up in Rachel's life six months ago, then Kurt wouldn't even be here. He'd still be living with Rachel in their moderately sized apartment, in the _nicer_ part of the Chicago. He'd still be experiencing their regular film nights, idle arguments and sharing dreams and ambitions. He'd be gossiping over hot boys that he'd had the chance to make and fit costumes for and gush over every single one Rachel's successful auditions…or cry and eat ice-cream over the disastrous ones.

But the fact was that Connor _had_ popped up in Rachel's life six months (give or take a few days) and Rachel was now contently living with him. And Kurt, having been unable to pay the rent of the apartment on his own had slightly resentfully spread his own wings and left to take up residence, on his own, in a completely new part of the city. And now he wasn't sure if the adventurous, bold new move had been a good idea or a terrible mistake.

But Connor _was_ good for Rachel (even if Kurt had originally cursed the man for disrupting the fluid relationship between him and the Barbra to his Judy)…though his physical aspects did _kind of_ remind Kurt of Rachel's ex, Kurt's step-brother Finn. But he hadn't bothered to mention that to his best friend who had animatedly told him all about Connor and how wonderful he was and how handsome he was and how caring he was and how he had he bought her expensive jewelry and how his dream matched Rachel's and how they were going to be the power-couple that would take over Broadway in the future. And of course Kurt would be the cheering friend on the sidelines, holding his little gay pride flag over his head and feeling even more alone and single than he had before.

Lonely, single and unwanted; the three words that all seemed to blend into one and were a constant nagging reminder at the back of his mind that Kurt Hummel was destined to be alone forever until his hair turned grey and his lotions and make-up could no longer hide the relentless onslaught of old age and the wrinkles that came with it. For Kurt had split up with his last boyfriend just over nine months ago. He'd been a sandy-haired guy with tall, lanky features and an adorable face but a _horrid_ fashion sense with a serious and sometimes problematic addiction to soccer. Their relationship had ended after Brian had foolishly mistaken Kurt for a girl and since then Kurt had vowed to never reveal his pear hips to anyone ever again whilst allowing his deeply lonely and upset state of mind to tattoo the cliché words 'forever alone' deeper into his conscience. Yeah, since their break-up Kurt hadn't been very into the dating scene…nor had any man shown any interest in the brunette; much to Kurt's consternation.

_BEEP!_

Kurt's eyes snapped open and he stared, wide-eyed at the ceiling in the darkening room as he listened to the car alarm going berserk a block away. _God_, he breathed out heavily as his heart calmed and he sat up rigidly, rolling his shoulders back. It was way too quiet in the apartment; stupidly silent. Where was Rachel singing her classic Broadway tracks and much loved Barbra? Where was she squealing and moaning with that failed Bambi eyes look of hers whenever she burnt her food or bumped her hip against that one corner of the sofa that seemed to hate both her and Kurt? Oh yeah, that's right. She wasn't _here_. And Kurt Hummel was alone.

And it wasn't until now that the brunette realized how eerie and scary the silence really was.

He stood up slowly and headed out of the room (no, sorry, _cupboard_), dodging boxes as he went until he stood next to the front door staring back at the piles of belongings and unorganized furniture in the room that acted like a kitchen and living room at the same time. And frankly, Kurt was surprised the bathroom and bedroom hadn't been included into the dismally small space. Kurt chewed at his bottom lip as he shrugged on a coat and pulled on his white Doc Martens. He wanted to get out of the apartment. No, he _needed_ to get out. It was too quiet, too different, too daunting. Too alien for Kurt to even consider calling the place 'home'.

He shut the door behind him (the unpacking could wait till tomorrow) and headed down the stairs having chosen to _not_ trust the _ancient_ lift that beckoned to him. Escaping outside, Kurt stood on the sidewalk breathing in the cool evening air before glancing once to his right, and then to his left. He then shoved his hands into the warm pockets of his coat, shrugged meekly to himself and randomly chose a direction - to the right. It hardly mattered which way he went, he was only going for a walk anyway – just to escape the new apartment that had seemingly become stuffier and stuffier the longer Kurt's thoughts lingered on its unfamiliarity.

Kurt found himself staring at the ground for much of his walk, only glancing up to cross the street and honestly, Kurt assumed that he must of appeared a very sorry sight to any passers-by; with his dark coat and a slouched position that would have had any of his friends hastily asking what was wrong and why he wasn't walking tall and proud with that usual magical glint of his in his eyes. But none of his friends were here; this neighborhood was completely foreign to him and thus he didn't need to live up to any expectations. He was free to look as moody and sad as he felt. And Kurt Hummel would be definitely lying if he claimed that he wasn't slightly disheartened at the moment, especially when he considered the prospects of his future; his future without a partner, living on his own and continuously stitching clothing for characters in semi-successful plays. And whilst Kurt wouldn't say his fantasies of appearing on Broadway had faded away and vanished (in the words of Rachel Berry, they had merely been pushed to the side temporarily), he could undoubtedly say that the last couple months had been a serious reality check.

Kurt paused. Okay, _grow up and stop the self-pity party!_ He looked up and viewed his surroundings. Right, he had _no_ idea where he was, though he couldn't have walked that far. No more than ten blocks. Yet the sky was still darkening, casting the area in a gloomy shadow and causing Kurt to shiver at the cold and bury his face into the collar of his coat. Better head back to his stingy little apartment.

Turning, he took a step to begin his slow amble back when a low grunt came from the alley not even two meters from where Kurt stood. He stopped, his eyebrows rose and before he knew it he was slowly etching to the opening and peering down the alleyway with a cautious look.

What he saw had his breath hitching in his throat as he mouth fell open and a completely startled look took over his features.

There was a group of guys, at least seven of them, all looking Kurt's age or slightly older, and they were all surrounding one man who was currently being held up against a grimy wall. The man had a mop of curly brown hair, had tanned skin, was short and even from the distance where Kurt was hovering uncertainly; he could tell that there was blood dripping from his nose. The guy holding him was blonde, tall and skinny though his grip on the squirming man was strong. And judging by his snarl, Kurt assumed that the brunette was in serious trouble. When he slammed the man against the wall with more force, Kurt's initial thoughts were confirmed.

They were shouting, but the wind carrying the sound made the words muffled and unclear and Kurt unconsciously stepped closer to hear their confrontation more clearly. Soon curse words and rude remarks became audible and when the blonde man yelled into the brunette's face only to have the shorter man spit at him, Kurt couldn't help the undignified squawk that left his lips as a fist collided with the guy's stomach. Thankfully the man's groan of pain masked Kurt's reaction and no attention was drawn to him. Instead, the group laughed, fist bumps were exchanged between a few guys and the blonde stranger yanked harshly at the brunette's hair. A howl filled the air and Kurt felt his heart clench.

"You fucked my brother! You fucking piece of shit!" The first full sentences became clear and Kurt paused, hidden in the shadows as he observed with wide eyes when the short man was thrown to the ground and the breath left him when the blonde and a larger guy began to kick him…and they wouldn't stop.

Kurt stood frozen, counting every single kick, every single punch and every single time one of the men leant over to spit at the hopeless man until he lost count. The man's face was bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, one eye had swollen shut, there was a horrid cut on his cheek and his bottom lip was split open.

The brunette gagged and spat out a ball of saliva and blood. "Yeah," He peered up at the livid man with one eye. "Yeah, I fucked him. And you know what? He _fucking loved_ it." He managed a bloody smirk before a foot collided with his head and it smacked against the concrete ground. Kurt winced when the man whimpered, clutching his head with one hands while the other wrapped around his stomach in an useless attempt to protect himself.

"You fuck! I'm going to fucking kill you!" Another foot hit him in the stomach again and again _and again_ and the whole time the blonde guy was roaring, cursing at the man lying curled up on the ground. And Kurt could no longer decide if the ground below the injured man had been that dark before, or if the blood had stained the concrete in a sick interpretation of a painting.

But damn, Kurt was positive he'd never seen that much blood before with his own two eyes, not even that time when Finn had had a horrid accident whilst playing football or when Kurt had regrettably asked Rachel to aid him in affixing two pieces of fabric together and she had ended up stapling his hand to the material instead. Sure, there had been blood. But not _this_ much!

"I'm sure George – ah, wouldn't like that," he remained curled up, looking so broken and defeated yet somehow still managing to put up a verbal fight. "Your slut of a brother came to me, Jeff! So fuck you!" He successfully screamed out before Jeff grabbed hold of his head and slammed it over and over again against the cold, filthy ground. His bold scream swiftly turned into a shriek of agony.

"What the _hell_ did you just say?!" He trod on the brunette's fingers, digging his heel down until a cracking sound resonated through the alley and the short man yelled out. Jeff pulled back with a gleeful grin whilst Kurt gawked at the blonde from where he stood. "You fucking New Directions just don't know your place." He scoffed and ran a blood covered hand through his blonde locks. The hair turned a darker color beneath his fingers and Jeff clenched his teeth together tightly.

Kurt shut his eyes momentarily before blinking them open slowly and taking in a shaky inhalation. This needed to stop. This _had_ to stop! Kurt couldn't watch this anymore, seeing the brunette haired man looking so weak and pathetic on the ground whilst men stood around him, laughing and commenting on his appearance. It was horrid. And it was wrong on _so _many levels. How could anyway do that…Kurt sighed at the stupidity of his own internal question. Apparently _these_ people quite easily could. They could hurt a man, just like those bullies back in high school had hurt Kurt. Yet, it had never been _this_ bad.

"Stop it!"

Kurt still didn't know what impulse had forced him to emerge from the shadows and yell out at the men. Maybe it was because he'd seen himself the short man's position too many times to count and had always wished that someone would have just stepped forward and ended the bullying. Maybe it was because Kurt had just had enough, that he couldn't watch the abuse any longer. And maybe it was because Kurt was the only man nearby that could help and it was his duty to do so, that he'd feel guilty if he didn't.

Maybe it was a bit of all three.

But it was too late to think back on all that now, especially when a group of men were slowly turning to look at him, snarls coating their face as cold eyes swept over him. They were judging him, and a quick scan over was all it took for them to determine that Kurt wasn't a threat, he wasn't a brave policeman…more like a foolish young man who'd stuck his nose into something that didn't concern him. And Kurt wasn't very muscular either, he wasn't strong or athletic and he was pretty sure that any one of these guys could easily beat him into a grotesque shape. So, why was he getting involved again, other than some mad attempt at heroism?

Because Kurt Hummel was scared. He was petrified, practically shaking in his white boots, eyes flying from one sneering man to the other and then back again before releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when one of the men laughed almost pitifully at him and the others redirected their attention back to the bleeding man.

Jeff glanced up last, having previously been busy nudging at the brunette's shattered hand teasingly with his foot and chuckling whenever the short man's body had shaken or he'd shrieked. But now his eyes were sweeping over Kurt's slim frame, taking in the feminine posture and the eccentric clothing before he coughed out a laugh. "Didn't know the Nude Erections were recruiting twinks," He rested one foot on top of man's stomach and pressed down, _hard_. The brunette gasped and weak hands came up to try to remove the pressure before they twitched and fall back down to lay by his side. He wheezed heavily on the ground.

Kurt pursed his lips together. "You're hurting him. Leave him alone."

"That's the point," inquisitive eyebrows rose. Whether they were mocking his idiocy or admiring his bravery, Kurt wasn't too sure. Though he kind of suspected it was former as the group chuckled. "Look kid, get out of here. No need for you to get involved." Jeff shooed at Kurt with a half-hearted waft of his hand.

Yet Kurt stood his ground, swallowing thickly and burying his fears and worries.

"Didn't you fucking hear him? Fuck, off!" A man roared at him and Kurt's eyes snapped to his. He was one of largest of the bunch, with a broad frame and a menacing expression. "You're lucky Bas ain't here. Bas would've beaten you up already."

Another man snorted. "He would've fucked the boy first, Trent," his British accented words were met with the skin-crawling laughter of the other guys.

"You hear that, kid? Be a good boy and run away before you get an unexpected cock up your ass." A young man with black hair said.

"Look at him though, Nick," A redhead stated this time. "He looks like he wouldn't exactly mind being rough handled like that. What do you say, Cinderella?" He reached a grimy hand down and cupped himself through his jeans, squeezing firmly as he cocked an eyebrow at Kurt.

Kurt found himself grimacing and frowning in response. "What? And risk catching that horrendous mix of herpes, chlamydia and stupidity that you seem to be so proudly harvesting? No thanks." He was immensely proud that his voice hadn't shaken and that he'd been able to deliver the insult with only a moment's hesitance. No point in showing these thugs how afraid he was. Kurt clenched his hands into tight fists by his sides to stop them shaking and sweating uncontrollably.

The men's faces shifted into an odd mix of shock and an impressed expression before Trent started barking out laughter. The others soon joined in. "Kid's got guts," Kurt heard Nick mumble through his snigger and he nodded with faint approval at Kurt.

"L-leave."

It took a second for Kurt to realize where the noise had come from, but when he finally recognized it, his eyes focused on the broken man on the floor with a concerned look.

"Oh, shut up Blaine," Another kick, another groan of pitiful protest.

"I-I'll call the police if you don't stop." Kurt called out and at that point he really had no idea what he was going on in his mind. What the hell was he doing?! Threatening to call the cops?! Was he crazy?! Judging by the bemused yet entertained looks on the guys' faces, yes, yes he was. Because honestly, if the men chose to, they could have grabbed Kurt, thrown him beside Blaine and continued raining down attacks on the pair before Kurt had even managed to press the phone against his ear and hear the slightly comforting, yet still obnoxious voice of a woman on the other line. But by the time that thought entered his mind, Kurt had already whipped out his phone and was on the verge of punching in three simple numbers. _Oh god._

But the men didn't do that, they didn't charge forward in a mad rage. Instead they remained where they were, talking in inaudible tones to each other with identical smirks on their faces. "I like him," he heard Trent say as the man winked at Kurt and then proceeded to smile obnoxiously at the startled response he'd drawn from Kurt: a dramatic rise of his eyebrows and his gaping mouth doing a 'fish out of water' expression. Kurt quickly tried to compose himself, blinking rapidly until his poor heart returned to a healthy rhythmical pattern instead of threatening to break out of its cage of flesh and bones.

"Come on, let's go already, Jeff. Seb's gonna be waiting," Nick muttered, casting a look to Kurt, then to Blaine and then finally to Jeff who shrugged haughtily and nodded stiffly.

"Fine," he replied before sending a final kick at Blaine's ribs. "You ever go near George again, and I'll fucking end your life. You got that, Blaine?"

"A-And what about when he crawls back to me and b-bends over again? How am I supposed to resist that?" Blaine paused to wince, eye shutting for a moment as he caught back his breath. "You gonna stop him, Jeff? Be the heroic big brother? Or do I just f-fuck him again and let you beat me up in return."

Jeff looked ready to launch himself at Blaine at that very moment and probably would have done so had Trent not wrapped a tentative hand around his bicep and pulled firmly. "Jeff, come on," He encouraged and with another tug pulled the quivering man away from the injured body.

During this, Kurt quickly and silently deleted the first digit of the emergency number from his phone. Yet he still clutched tightly onto his mobile as he waited. Waited for what? He wasn't too sure. Probably for Jeff to finally lose it and attack Blaine with a fury of fists and kicks, maybe even draw a weapon from his jacket pocket and do some permanent damage to the man. Or, Kurt was still waiting for the men to all turn round simultaneously, give him a cold stare before unleashing all their fury onto him. Though, neither scenario sounded particularly appealing.

Kurt closed his eyes and wished that this would all just go away. Just disappear. And by the time his eyes reopened, the gang was already disappearing down the alley, vanishing into the shadows stealthily until the rustle of feet moving against the ground or the gentle mumble of male voices ceased to exist.

And then Kurt was left alone with an injured man, and he didn't even hesitate as he ran to the body, arms outstretched and ready to aid Blaine in any way he could. He stared silently as Blaine rolled over onto his stomach, grunts and squawks of discomfort leaving his split lips as he pushed himself up with two shaky hands, one of which carried three bruised and swollen fingers.

"Here, let me help," Kurt hooked an arm around Blaine's shoulders and aided the man up onto two unsteady feet. Blood stained onto Kurt's coat from a shirt that had used to be some pale blue color but now was a murky shade of red and yet more blood dripped from Blaine's head injuries down onto the fabric; from the cut on his lip, from his nose that was bent at an old angle and from the deep wounds on his forehead and cheeks, caused by repeated impacts with the ground and Jeff's shoe. Kurt gave a small, sad sympathetic smile. Blaine's injuries looked more and more grotesque and fatal the closer to them he was.

He needed to go to the hospital. He _needed_ professional treatment. "Blaine, I need to call for an ambulance, okay. Can you stand by yourself for a second?" The words took almost five seconds to click in, but when they finally did, Kurt wasn't expecting Blaine to jerk away from him with sloppy movements and fix him with a deadly look.

"What the fuck?!" He yelled suddenly. His one good eye searching Kurt's face for an unknown answer, face twisted in a horrified look that wouldn't have appeared nearly as scary if his skin wasn't colored in red liquid and blue and purple patches.

"I'm sorry?" It was all Kurt could say. What was going on? And why was Blaine staring at him like that; like he was some disgusting piece of vermin?

The shorter man backed away, supporting his weight against a nearby wall as he forced his legs to move him backwards, away from Kurt. "You're such an idiot!" He spat out and stumbled back even more, leaving a trail of red behind him on the wall. "Why did you…" his exasperated words died on his lips and Blaine shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"_I'm_ an idiot? I just saved you!" Kurt took a brave step forward.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"To be completely honest, no, I don't! Do you expect me to? I saw you – and I – you seemed to need help," Kurt stammered meekly before adding in an even quieter tone. "I don't know what you expected me to do. I wasn't going to just walk past and pretend nothing was happening." By the look in Blaine's eye, it was obvious that walking past like nothing had happened was _exactly _what Blaine would have preferred.

"Just, _fuck off_! I didn't _need_ your help." Blaine protested. And when Kurt took another cautious footstep towards him, he growled. "You come any closer and I swear to god I'll hurt you." The threat was weak, considering that the man could hardly stand and every step he took was met with a pained gasp and an awkward limp as his legs protested against the movement. But nonetheless, Kurt remained in one spot, not daring to reach out and touch the man again. And it wasn't the threatening comment that was keeping him there. No. It was that look in the brunette's eye. It was the way he was gazing upon Kurt with that same look he'd given Jeff only moments ago. One filled with hate and disgust and fear and…pity? And Kurt would just about do anything to stop being on the receiving end of that glare.

Blaine tripped and began to fall, until he caught himself with a wobbly leg and a hand on the wall and righted himself once again. He heaved out heavily, breath turning into mist before Kurt's eyes as he spun round and walked away.

"Blaine!" Kurt didn't stop himself from calling out. And he didn't stop himself from reaching out a hand either, though he had no idea what had possessed him to do that. So Kurt just stared at his retreating back, arm extended into the air and with eyes that held no specific color looking so, _so_ confused and lost.

The short man spared Kurt a final glance, spat at the ground, leaving his final bloody mark, before turning and limping away into the darkness. He left Kurt to close his slightly gaping mouth and for him to twirl round and walk with stiff legs to the opening of the alleyway. Mouth dry and questions flying around his head, Kurt began his walk home.

And as his feet moved automatically through streets, retracing steps he'd taken less than an hour ago, Kurt found his eyes trailing down to his shaking hands, to the phone still held tightly in his right hand, and the splotches of red on his left. He sighed and pursed his lips together.

_What – What was going on?_

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Eeeh! My first ever Kurtbastian fanfic and it already looks like it's going to be a long one *sighs*. Hope it's well received! And reviews will be loved and treasured forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Create Bubbles at Night – Chapter 2**

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Twelve hours, fifty two minutes and approximately thirty seven seconds; that was exactly how long it had been since Kurt had watched Blaine stagger off into darkness.

Not that Kurt had been keeping count of course.

He'd _definitely_ only noted this expanse of passing time purely by accident after sitting quietly in a secluded area of a café, gazing at the clock on the wall opposite him as his coffee turned cold and vile. And _even_ then, it had been a random observation. He had most certainly _not_ carefully counted every passing minute and wondered where the curly-haired man now was. Geez, even noticing the clock in the first place had been fruitless and _completely _unplanned. His eyes had merely been drawn up to the second hand as it moved around in a repeated circle while the _tick, tick, tick_ noise had become suspiciously audible, getting seemingly louder _and louder_ until Kurt had no longer been able to drag his eyes away.

From then on, he'd regrettably taken note of every minute and now he was stuck in his current predicament: clutching a coffee in one hand, chewing at his bottom lip and glaring at the wall opposite him in a manner that suggested that the inanimate barricade had actually done something to offend him. Kurt abruptly shook himself, swallowed slowly and stopped staring at the clock in a way that really shouldn't be considered healthy.

Though Rachel would have probably complimented his intense stare, stating that it showed the _perfect_ degree of fierceness and determination; that all he needed was to furrow his eyebrows more, purse his lips together and tilt his head up slightly to catch the outstanding lighting on some theatre stage; that his expression of total ferocity would be perfect for the most recent play she undoubtedly would have also been auditioning for.

For Kurt had yet to tell his best friend, who was so busy playing the ideal role in her perfect little world that his dreams had been shot in the foot the second he'd opened his letter from NYADA so many years ago. That the fact that he hadn't been accepted had meant weeks' worth of tear stained bed sheets, of bitterly watching as Rachel bounced off to the college of her dreams and of accepting the opportunity to study fashion at a less popular nearby college with nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders and the stiff incline of his head. He'd never bothered to tell her exactly how much it that had hurt; fake smiling over Skype and having to wait for her to graduate before moving to Chicago together to begin a new life as flat mates. And it wasn't like _that_ had ended particularly well either.

Kurt sighed. He _really_ did need to stop complaining about his life. So what if he was now destined to forever stitch outfits and listen to Susan complain about _"oh, Kurtie! My dress don't fit right! Did you have a shot too many before fixing my costume?_" and listen to her snort with laughter without being able to reply with a scathing _"no Susan, your dress fit fine last week. It's just that you're a fat bitch who can't stop eating between shows and maybe if you lost the 'I'm so much better than you' attitude you'd lose another two dress sizes. Just a suggestion Dumbo, try it next time." _Yeah, he was fine doing that for the rest of his life, _no problem_.

Especially after his kind of traumatic, kind of unsettling but mostly fascinating if not slightly morbid discovery thirteen hours, three minutes and - Kurt Hummel took an unpleasant sip of his cold drink and tore his eyes away from the clock again. He hated to admit it, but last night had provided him the perfect kick of adrenaline. Instead of now mourning his dismal future he was instead busy wondering what other kind of criminal activity these 'gangs' were up to, if he'd ever bump into Blaine again and if the old lady living in the flat across from his was somehow involved in all of this and if hundreds of dollars' worth of drugs were currently being smuggled out of her flat and into the pockets of young hooded men. Maybe she was hiding cocaine in those neatly arranged flower pots outside her window…

_God_, he was becoming insane.

Not to mention that the image of a bleeding Blaine seemed to have permanently cemented itself to his retinas. That every time he blinked, a picture of his broken body flashed in front of him and that he repeatedly had to check his nails for any traces of the blood he had spent a whole twenty minutes scratching off his skin last night. To any normal person though, he just appeared like a stereotypical gay man who'd forgotten to book in his monthly manicure and was busy frantically investigating his cuticles for any damage. For that, he was _extremely_ thankful for.

Though, the matter of a potentially dead Blaine was still resting heavily on his conscience. Kurt had already been desperately trying to quench that nauseous feeling in his stomach with continuous sips of cold coffee for the past thirty minutes now and the feeling just _wasn't_ going away. He traced a pale finger over the tiny pattern on the coffee cup as Kurt internally scoffed at himself. He'd watched a bleeding man limp away with broken bones, probably severe concussion and here_ he _was; trying to drown the pessimistic and unfortunately more probable scenarios with thoughts about his neighbor's unlikely mafia lifestyle and worrying if fellow customers in the café could send the guilt hanging above his head! How egotistic of him.

But the guilt: that stupid emotion that had everything tasting like sand in his mouth and was the reason why Kurt had spent the previous night lying awake in bed, subconsciously listening out for the telltale rasping noises of a man dying outside in the streets below him. Jeff could have killed Blaine! And he probably wouldn't even have felt any remorse if he had done so. _God_, he'd been so stupid, so freaking scared. Kurt lifted his head slowly and almost laughed bitterly to himself. He was such an _idiot_; _an insane idiot _who only cared for himself.

And damn, now that Blaine's picture refused to leave his mind, it seemed that he was even beginning to mistake random strangers for the short, young man. Kurt gazed at the guy standing by the counter, fidgeting with his coffee with one hand whilst his other rested, badly bandaged against his chest – he looked ridiculously similar to Blaine. He even had the bruises and the cuts and the wonky nose and - _Wait, what_?

Kurt blinked. And then blinked again. And then blinked once more and even lifted a hand to rub at his eyes to make sure this really wasn't a stupid illusion. His jaw then proceeded to hit the tiled floor and his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline to be never seen again.

No way. No _freakin'_ way! Blaine was currently supposed to be lying in hospital in a dangerous condition after some helpful stranger had found him collapsed in the street, or something similar. He wasn't supposed to be paying for a skinny latte in a neat little café one block away from Kurt's apartment. Though, the latter scenario was a lot more heart-warming and stress relieving. And the weight that disappeared off Kurt's shoulders as he had identified Blaine was one that he would certainly never miss.

_Thank god._ Thank god Blaine was alright. Thank god he was standing upright. Thank god he was managing to squint somewhat out of his puffy eye. Thank god he was wearing a fresh set of clothes and his face was no longer bloody, only bruised and swollen. Thank god he hadn't lost any teeth during the beating his face had taken and that he still maintained a full set of gleaming white teeth that made his smile to waitress seem so perfect and – Kurt paused abruptly…and let a stupid smile rise onto his face as he observed Blaine whilst the man clumsily poured sugar into his drink and stirred.

Then Blaine turned to face him and eye contact was made. Kurt watched him frown (though his facial gestures were difficult to read due to the swelling), before the man picked up his coffee, spun around and rushed out of the door quickly; though Kurt certainly didn't miss his wince of pain.

And Kurt certainly didn't hesitate when he stood up and chased after the man, leaving an abandoned coffee on his table. "Blaine! Blaine, wait," he jogged onto the street and after the man swiftly disappearing down the road despite the noticeable stiffness in his right leg. "Blaine!" Kurt soon caught up to Blaine, whether that was because of his injuries or because the oncoming traffic had prevented Blaine from crossing the road, Kurt wasn't particularly sure. Not that he even cared much as he panted steadily in front of the man.

"Go away."

"Blaine?" Kurt supposed he should have expected the biting tone, the underlying hatred and lack of warmth, though he still jerked back slightly; arm hovering just above Blaine's left shoulder. For Kurt was convinced that had he laid his palm down against the fabric of the shorter man's coat, he would have been swiftly flying into the oncoming traffic and towards his inevitable death. So the arm stayed awkwardly in the air, where it received a cold look from Blaine. And whilst Kurt himself was known for his judging looks, his smirks of superiority and confidence and his glares of anger, he was still positive in the knowledge that if looks could kill, he'd be a smoldering pile of ash on the pavement by now.

"Get lost," Blaine said, voice firm and low, both powerful and compelling.

Yet Kurt Hummel remained still. After all, the man had recently stood up to seven bullies, thugs who were both older and stronger than he was. And frankly, Blaine didn't even compare to them. Blaine was short. Shorter than Kurt, and though he looked stronger, his defeated appearance sucked any intimidating factor away from him; so Kurt wasn't scared, maybe a tad wary, but he definitely wasn't about to back down now.

Though, Kurt didn't quite know what to say. He'd marched after Blaine with fierce determination. But his end goal had never really been established, and now that he was stood gaping opposite the glaring man, Kurt was struggling heavily to find the purpose behind their sudden encounter. Was it the Good Samaritan within Kurt urging the young man to reach out to Blaine and help him? Was it his nurturing nature that begged to bring the shorter man home with him, to redress his bandages and offer any needed emotional support? Or was it the everlasting guilt that had barrowed its way down into Kurt's core and was now screaming at him, blaming him for not acting fast enough, for not helping Blaine more last night?

_No, it wasn't the guilt. _

And then Kurt trailed his eyes over Blaine's bruised body and sighed. _Yeah, it was definitely the guilt._ "I wanted to make sure you were okay," Kurt replied before taking a daring plunge into the deep end and resting his palm gently on Blaine's shoulder.

It was quickly shrugged off.

"Well you came, you saw and now it's time to fuck off."

"I could help you," Kurt suggested, eyes shimmering with passionate hope as he once against lifted his hand, this time trailing it just above Blaine's bandaged arm. "You look like you're in pain."

Blaine shrugged. "It's nothing," he was obviously lying. The tensing of his jaw at the otherwise simple movement gave it all away all too easily and had Kurt huffing and rolling his eyes. Boys: always the ones to refuse to admit they needed help.

"Nothing? Really? So, if I now reached out and poked your nose, you wouldn't flinch or swear or cry or anything," he said, cocking an eyebrow dramatically as he folded his arms. The teasing part of Kurt was all too ready to reach out and gleefully poke the bruised flesh, just so he could hear Blaine admit he'd lied. And of course the realistic side of him was quick to point out that he wanted to help Blaine, not cause him to squeal in slight agony. Though, Kurt did allow a small smile to appear as Blaine flinched back defensively.

"Fuck off," he said.

"Blaine," the name came out as a high exasperated whine and it didn't take long for Kurt to realize how pathetic he sounded. Groveling to an almost stranger certainly hadn't seemed like a possible life choice a few years back.

"Go on, walk back down that street and pretend you never saw me," Blaine said heatedly.

"What? No! We're _both_ going to walk down that street and you're going to come to my flat and I'm going to make sure you're okay," Kurt replied steadily, eyes narrowing in response to the growl that Blaine gave him. Geez, the man could snarl and hiss all he liked; because Kurt Hummel was not moving from this spot without Blaine. That decision had been made long ago, and without Blaine's input. But that didn't matter, considering that the poor man was currently pulling at the sling (holding his bandaged arm against his chest) which was slipping dangerously off his shoulder. Kurt sighed as Blaine managed to successfully secure the loosening material with his coffee balanced precariously in the space between his chest and crook of his elbow. Whose virgin first aid skills had been put to the test helping this man? And why was the band aid attached to his collar area fixed wonkily across the cut?

"Leave," his voice was now cold. "Fuck off. I don't need you and I definitely don't need you acting like a hero. You did your part last night, what do you want now? A thank you?"

Kurt remained silent, pursing his lips together at Blaine's reluctant behavior.

The silence between the pair hardly lasted long before Blaine was roaring, attracting attention to the couple as they stood on the sidewalk. "Just fuck off and stop being the annoying nosy gay little cunt you're quickly turning into!" Blaine pushed past Kurt, shoving the younger man to side weakly as he surged past, taking a confident (if not slightly pained) stride away from Kurt.

It took all of two seconds for Kurt to cock his head to the left, click his tongue before reaching out with his arm and wrapping it firmly around Blaine's.

And then he pulled.

The steaming coffee dropped to the floor and Blaine was forced backwards, a yelp of pain leaving his lips as he was turned round to face Kurt's seething expression. Kurt swiftly began walking, dragging the baffled man behind him as he headed to his apartment.

"Hey! What are you doing?! That hurts, let go!" Came Blaine's confused call behind him and Kurt felt Blaine give a little tug, a weak effort to pull himself away from Kurt before promptly giving up as pain undoubtedly shot up his bicep and into his shoulder.

"See, you're not even strong enough to stop the annoying nosy gay little cunt from dragging you all the way back to his apartment," Kurt muttered darkly. "Think that's proof enough that you need a little help."

"Are you insane?! Are you fucking mentally deficient?!"

Kurt came to abrupt stop. "I'm sane enough to know that your bandages need changing, that your face needs an icepack, that that one cut on your cheek needs stitches, that you have at least one broken rib and that you're obviously not going to go to the hospital because you're an idiot who thinks he's so much better than everyone else," he hissed into Blaine's face. "Now grow up, stop complaining and let me help you before you go out there and do something stupid again!"

"I have people who can take care of me."

"Well they obviously didn't do a great job." Kurt heard a dark growl along the lines of _"it's not my fault two lesbians don't know the difference between a sticker and a band aid_", though he doubted he was supposed to have heard that judging by Blaine's scornful look. Nonetheless, he fixed Blaine with a judging look and tapped his foot impatiently against the concrete ground. A few seconds passed and he gave a small tug at Blaine's arm which had been hanging awkwardly in his grasp.

"Ow! Fine! Stop pulling on my arm!" Kurt let go and Blaine in turn cradled the limb against his chest and winced. "Fuck, god."

"Are you coming with me, or not?"

"Well this most certainly is the weirdest way a guy has ever hit on me. Usually I get their number, maybe down a few drinks, suck some cock in a club bathroom and then, I get invited back to theirs. But if you insist, we'll skip out all the minor details, babe."

"You think I'm trying to get with you?" Kurt asked.

Blaine shrugged.

"You're not my type." Yeah, Kurt's type was taller. And though the strength and the muscles were there, Kurt definitely wasn't into _bad _boys. No, Kurt's type was sophisticated and mature. And whilst his small crush on his now step-brother a few years back would never be spoken of again, _ever;_ Kurt was happy to admit that he no longer found the confused, 'I don't understand what you're saying, could you please repeat that with smaller words' look quite as endearing as it had been then. And thankfully all of Kurt's few partners had possessed vocabulary that advanced beyond elementary school level. Though, none of them had been 'the one'. And that had definitely been something Kurt had spent many nights thinking about; was he just incredibly picky? Or did he lack the ability to make a _real_ connection with any man?

"Oh, really?" Yet, judging by the raised brow, it certainly didn't seem like Blaine would have said no to making some sort of _connection_ with Kurt; even if that connection wasn't exactly what Kurt had in mind.

"Yes, really. Now are you coming or not?"

"Sheesh, yes! Don't get your panties in a twist, babe."

"Is designating obnoxious nicknames a common trait amongst your type of people then?" Kurt spun and began to lead the way, not glancing behind him to see if Blaine was following or not. Though he heard a small chuckle in reply and the drag of heavy feet against the pavement: a sign that Blaine was indeed following him, if not somewhat slowly.

Actually, he was quite a lot slower. Less than thirty feet away from their second encounter, Kurt had had to pause as raspy breathes reached his ears. He'd turned and waited patiently for the rude delinquent to catch up, which Blaine did eventually. He didn't even comment on the free hand the shorter man was now resting on his stomach, as if to support himself. No point in adding fuel to the fire and angering Blaine any further than he'd previously already done by pointing out his struggles.

As it turned out, walking less than two blocks back to your apartment block took twice as long when one of you was supporting a rather large collection of injuries.

And when Kurt had finally made it up to the front door, he'd turned around to find Blaine peering at him from almost ten feet away. It was fair to say that Kurt had not been amused. Nonetheless, he had cocked his head to the side curiously as he had observed Blaine glance around the area wearily, as if searching for a man with 'Warbler' tattooed to his head to rush towards him brandishing a kitchen knife, before sighing and deciding to ruin whatever discreet plan Blaine had been going for.

"Blaine!" The man's head had jerked up to stare at him. "Jeff or Sebastian's or whoever's little gang aren't going to leap out of that bush." Kurt heard a reply that suspiciously sounded like a grumble of _"I wouldn't put it past them"_ as he gestured at Blaine to hurry up and finally sighed in relief when the man hobbled through the front door (with much complaining) and the duo crowded into the lift.

Opening the door to his apartment, Kurt ushered the shorter man inside, closed the door and fixed Blaine with an uneasy smile. Blaine was stood next to a tall pile of boxes, teetering slightly on his feet as he glanced around curiously, taking in the shoebox sized apartment with nothing more than a small incline of the head.

Kurt made his way to a half unpacked box and began to rummage around. It was obvious this had been one of his more hastily packed boxes, rather than the color coordinated, alphabetical order that a large majority of the other boxes had been arranged in. Kurt searched through various objects, (items that lacked importance) before locating a neat little pink first aid box that Rachel had bought him. _"For all the pin pricked fingers," _she had said when presenting the younger, baffled Kurt with his 'present'.

He pulled the box out and set it down neatly on the arm of the couch.

Then from the freezer he pulled out an icepack, (since the first time Rachel had come home with a sprained ankle, he'd made sure to keep one in the freezer at all times – the habit had obviously followed him to his new home).

"I can't exactly put stitches in your cheek," Kurt stopped in front of Blaine as he sorted through the first aid kit. "But I can clean the cut a bit better." He reached up with an alcohol-free pad to try and wipe around the cut.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine," Kurt said before his wrist was grasped by Blaine and his hand was pulled down before the pad had even grazed the tanned skin. Kurt sighed. Why did Blaine have to be so difficult? "Fine. Fine," he murmured to himself as he put the sterile pad down. "I want to redo your bandaged arm though. And I want to put an icepack on the injuries on your chest for a bit; might help with some of the swollen parts."

"I'd take my shirt off but," Blaine nodded at his bandaged arm. "I could do with a bit of help." He gave a sheepish smile next, that quickly turned into a sneer as he stepped forward and moving his arm slightly so that Kurt had access to the buttons of his shirt.

Kurt flushed a pale pink color. "I know what you're thinking. So stop it," he said and he swiftly popped open Blaine's shirt, baring bruised yet toned flesh to his eyes and quickly slipping the material carefully off the shorter man. Luckily for him, Blaine remained quiet and compliant until the shirt was folded neatly on the couch and Kurt spun back to face him. And then he only _just _managed to hold in the gasp that threatened to escape. He wasn't about to give Blaine the satisfaction of thinking he's been surprised or _impressed_ by his body, even though the reason behind Kurt's surprise was linked more to the cuts and bruises on Blaine's chest, rather than the visible muscles.

"Now normally I'd be the one stripping you, but as I'm a bit handicapped, I'm sure you don't mind helping out and losing your own shirt," Blaine added after a while, single-handedly ruining his short lived good behavior with the comment. He then laughed at the scoff he managed to draw out of Kurt.

"You're funny. Really, hilarious," Kurt said before placing an icepack over the large bruise that covered Blaine's right side. He relished the hiss of surprise and pressed the icepack down firmly, feeling the muscles tense under his hand. "Your rib's broken."

"It'll heal."

"It'll heal? You're acting like you have a splinter in your hand," Kurt deadpanned.

Blaine sighed and lifted a hand to fist the fabric of Kurt's shirt near his shoulder. Kurt resisted the urge to cry out in outrage at the possibility of wrinkled clothing. "Just bandage it up, will you. Not exactly asking for much, am I."

"Fine," Kurt said and set to work taping up Blaine's injured side, taking great care as he gently rolled the adhesive tape over Blaine's sternum. Though the way Blaine's hand was attached to his shoulder, squeezing so tightly that Kurt was convinced his arm was about to pop out of place, suggested that no matter how much care he took, Blaine was still in immense pain. "I guess asking you to go the hospital and get this checked out would be beyond any of the rational thoughts you possess."

"No, it's just that I'd prefer to live till I was at least thirty and getting a bullet through my head wouldn't be the smartest way to go about reaching that goal."

"Bulle -." Kurt paused. "Actually I'm not even going to ask. Just, try not to act like immature five year olds, okay? Sort this stupid argument you and your clubs –

"Gangs."

"– have going on and grow up. Hell, I want to stab Susan at work with sewing needle half the time, doesn't mean I'm actually going to do it." Kurt finished.

"It's not that simple, babe."

"Forgive me for assuming that _grown_ men fighting over land, drugs, sex and whatever else it is you do isn't just a stupid squabble."

Blaine let out a heavy exhale but remained silent, face stern with his hands clenched tightly by his sides now whilst he let Kurt continue his job. "Why are you doing this?" The brunette asked after a few minutes of silent work. He glanced down at his chest as Kurt ripped off the last bit of tape and patted it down on his skin. Kurt took a step back to admire his work. It wasn't the world's best first aid service, but the tape would do its job preventing unnecessary movement well enough.

"Because I felt guilty for not helping you out more last night." The answer came instantly, though Kurt's eyes refused to make contact with Blaine's and he busied himself with rummaging through the first aid box.

"You're an idiot."

Kurt shrugged. Locating a small band aid, he placed it on a small cut above Blaine's right nipple. "I've been called worse," he said as he watched Blaine try and fail to undo the material holding his makeshift bandage and sling together. "Here, let me." Fingers skilled in mending and making clothing swiftly took care of the clumsy knot and soon Kurt was wincing as his eyes took in the swollen hand, purple bicep and the fragile way Blaine held his arm against himself.

"No, really. You're the biggest idiot I've ever had the displeasure to meet – ow! Watch what you're doing, eh?" Blaine protested as Kurt lightly traced fingers over the arm leading down to the swollen and broken fingers.

Kurt pulled a face brimming with pity as he gently moved the fractured fingers to the left, earning a yelp of agony from Blaine. "You look like a toddler tried and failed to help you. My step-brother could have done a better job at fixing you up, and I'm still trying to comprehend how he manages to run and catch a football at the same time. He's not exactly the brainiest guy," he mumbled as he began to wrap the fingers together, stopping them from moving and making Blaine's attempts at curling his hand into a tight fist impossible. Quiet apologies fell from Kurt's lips as he secured the hand and next set to work on bandaging his arm and crafting a sling.

"Sounds like he'd fit right in with the Warblers," Blaine grumbled. "And Santana was the only one in when I got back, alright. She's not the gentlest creature; thought she was gonna break my arm when she was bandaging it up."

"I'm surprised it wasn't broken before. You're lucky you out of that conflict with only a few fractured fingers and a broken rib," Kurt wrapped material around the limb and the fabric fell into place a lot neater than before, fastening the injured arm firmly against Blaine's chest. Kurt glanced up at Blaine from where he was working. "Did she set your nose too?"

Blaine nodded.

"Well she purposely set it wrong then." Blaine looked positively alarmed as a tanned hand came up to protectively cover his swollen nose. "Let me look at it." At the noise of protest that rose from Blaine, Kurt smiled softly and cupped the man's cheeks with his hands. One tanned hand came to rest next to Kurt's, fingers interlocking gently as Blaine stared up at Kurt worryingly: the first non-aggressive emotion to pass through his eyes. "If it makes you feel any better, at least my attempt that sorting out your nose will be better than Santana's," Kurt uttered, placing Blaine's hand back down to his side and pursing his lips together in a mixture of concentration and empathy.

"I'm still not convinced."

Kurt shrugged as his fingers moved to their places on either sides of Blaine's nose. "This'll hurt."

"I've had worse," Blaine managed to say before a morbid sound rang through the air, white teeth clamped down on his bottom lip and his eyes went wide. Kurt smiled pitifully as his eyes watered. "I'm fine. I'm fine," he rasped out after a few seconds and poked tenderly at the bruised flesh on his face. "_Shit_," he gave a small, hollow laugh that turned into a cough. "Babe, you need to learn to be gentler with a guy."

"My name's Kurt by the way. So you can stop with the nickname." Kurt said after he'd stepped away from aching man. Next he retrieved two glasses of water from the kitchen area, handed one to Blaine and found himself a comfy spot on the floor, leant up against a pile of boxes. From his cross-legged position on the floor, he found himself watching Blaine whilst the injured man balanced on the arm of the sofa, an icepack help up against his bruised nose.

Blaine grunted and stole a glance at Kurt before inhaling sharply through his nose and wincing.

Kurt winced with him, having witnessed the pained look on Blaine's face, and gave a sheepish smile in response. "Painkillers are in the first aid kit," he guided the man, earning another grunt in reply as he shifted position to hug his knees.

"I liked the nickname," a quiet, almost inaudible mumble came a minute later.

Kurt smiled and rolled his eyes.

* * *

Thank you guys so much for all the favorites and follows and reviews for the last chapter. I could have honestly cried at the number of follows I got. Sorry that I'm still building up the setting, Kurt and Blaine's characters and not much is happening yet. But it'll all start in the next chapter *hopeful smile* So yeah, if you're still wanting more of this story, I love you and bear with me. Your favorite meerkat is coming up soon!

Oh, and reviews for this part would be cherished forever and loved!


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